For The Worst
by LadyRiona
Summary: Takes place in manga timeline. Hohenheim has recently left the Elrics and things are changing for Edward and his family, for the worst.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with Hiromu Arakawa or any producing company responsible for Fullmetal Alchemist. I receive no monetary gain for posting this. **

**Author's Note: Well, no I'm not dead entirely but I have been out of commission for surgery (those who have read my other stories), but am recovering nicely. So I would like to share this nice, angsty story with all of you who happen upon it. It took first place in a fanfiction contest on NoviceWriters .net which I co-administrate. Check it out if you like; great site. Anyway, please enjoy the fic! If you don't like it, don't flame! Bad vibes give me stomach aches. **

**Quick overview: This story takes place during the manga timeline. I've changed it a tiny bit, accidentally but please forgive me. It's just after Hohenheim left Trisha and the boys. If you would like my references to the timeline, email or PM me and I'd be glad to share. And if you have any questions, address me about them and I'll answer best I can!

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**Prologue**

This is a story of tragedy, not one for the faint of heart. It is a tale of sorrow, loss, pain, sacrifice, and distrust. Many other aspects make up this story, but they would be too long to list here. Some are lighter, though some are most definitely not, sinking into the darker tones of life. Untouched areas of that darkness will be recognized.

It is the year 1905. The season is spring, only midway through. The last dredges of winter have finally receded. Flowers are in full bloom in the small town of Risembool. Everything is beautiful along the hilly countryside. Birds are nesting in trees, settling in for the summer ahead. Farmers are planting their crops in hopes for a good harvest to come in the fall. There are smiling faces everywhere.

Everywhere except one household.

- - -

A six year old Edward Elric walked slowly into the living room, rubbing his eyes. It was still early in the morning, but recently he'd made it habitual to wake himself ahead of the _old schedule_, to signify the change he was setting upon at least himself. He wanted things to be different, at least a little, to show that life would go on, even after what had happened the previous winter. He wanted to show his mother that he could take care of himself so she wouldn't have to work so hard to take care of herself and two sons. That was why he was awake, even before his mother. He wanted to make breakfast for their almost broken family.

Edward remembered watching his mother making pancakes for them. It didn't look too hard. He'd just need to find a stool or something to stand on since he was still a little…short for his age. So, as quietly as he could, Ed pushed a chair over to the counter. He needed a bowl. He always remembered seeing his mother pulling bowls from that cabinet. As he was pushing the chair across the room, it made a noisy scrape that made him flinch. Hopefully it wouldn't be loud enough to wake anyone.

After a lot of clambering, some mutters, and a bit of noise, Edward had managed to pull the bowl down from under many other dishes. A few of them had _almost _broken, but he'd somehow managed to save them. Now just to find the things to make the pancakes.

He was tempted to go ask his mother, though that would defeat the purpose of trying to prove he could take care of himself. So, with a new resolve to do this, Edward squared his little chin and began searching in all the cabinets, cupboards, jars, tins, and whatever else looked like it might hold things used to make pancakes. Within about ten minutes, he had managed to make the biggest mess in the kitchen. There was something in the bowl, though, that somewhat resembled pancake batter. He was just about to find something to cook the pancakes in when he heard a voice from the doorway.

"Edward!" It was his mother. She didn't sound pleased, like he had hoped she would.

Slowly, Ed turned around to look at his mother. He smiled at her, despite the angry look on her face. "I was…going to make us breakfast. Since Dad left, I don't want you to—"

He quieted when his mother began waving her hands in the air. "Edward, look at this mess you made. Now Mommy has to clean it up, _and_ make breakfast for you and Al." She was slowly walking toward him, weaving a bit. There was a strange look in her eye, one Edward had never seen before.

"But…" Edward frowned as he slid off the countertop. "I was going to make breakfast for us. And I'm sorry for the mess, Mom. I'll clean it up, I promise!" Or at least, Edward was going to say, "I promise." Before he could finish those last two words, he felt a strange impact on his cheek, unlike anything else before. It stung, burned a bit. It reminded him almost of when he and Al were in fist fights and Al smacked him one on his face. This was different, though. Much different.

When Edward looked up at his mother, she was looking past him, at the mess, expressionless. She smelled funny. There seemed to be no guilt in her eyes of what she'd just done. Even as Edward lifted his hand to his cheek, hoping she would see, hoping it had been an accident that she hadn't realized had hurt him, she didn't look. Tears began to well in Edward's eyes, though he fought them back; he couldn't cry. He was supposed to be strong for her! For Al, for himself. He couldn't cry.

"Mom," he whispered, looking up at her. He couldn't help the hurt that mixed in his voice, welled with his tears. "Why did you…?"

"Go back to bed, Edward," she said, voice void of much expression besides sternness. "Go back to bed and think of the work you made for Mommy so early in the morning."

Edward didn't say anything. With his hand still over his cheek, he ran past his mother and out of the kitchen, through the living room, up the stairs, and into his and Al's bedroom. Al was still asleep soundly. It only took a moment of thought for Edward to decide he wasn't going to wake his brother for this, not yet.

Maybe it had been an accident? Maybe his mother hadn't realized what she'd done? Maybe she was having a bad day? Excuses ran through Edward's head as he went quietly down the stairs once more. He needed an excuse for himself, so he could believe it when his friends asked what had happened. Ed could hear his mother in the kitchen, cleaning up the mess he'd made. That made him hurry to reach the door. He didn't want to see her right now. Even though it had possibly been an accident, he didn't want to chance another one.

Edward had wanted change. He had it. For the worst.


	2. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Okay we're here again for another go round. Hope you enjoy it. **

Disclaimer: Nope, still not getting anything from this besides lovely reviews from readers. No monetary gain so I'm still poor. Ah well. At least I have you guys.

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Chapter 1 

It was a few weeks later, after that incident in the kitchen. Edward had told no one about what his mother had done. He had convinced himself that it had been an accident. His mother had looked tired, so she probably just hadn't realized what she'd done. So Ed hadn't spoken of it more than needed, only to explain the slight discoloration on his cheek.

It was late in the evening. The Rockbells had just left after having dinner with the Elrics. Alphonse had been sent to bed already, but Edward had pleaded to stay awake to help clean up, the event apparently forgotten. So Edward was drying dishes while his mother washed and rinsed them. She was going at a slow enough pace that Ed had time to dry the dish in his hands before there was another waiting for him. The two seemed to be enjoying themselves, somewhat, though his mother looked a little unsteady again. Why did it so familiar seem to Edward? He paid it no mind as they washed the dishes. She was probably tired; she'd cleaned the house and cooked a great meal, and it _was_ late.

A few minutes later, Edward was skipping across the kitchen floor to put away a glass on the other side of the room. He set the glass on the counter and began crawling up beside it so he could put it in the cupboard. Though in his scrambling, his foot connected with the glass, sending it flying. As it hit the floor, it shattered into hundreds of pieces, shards sailing through the air.

Ed froze. This wasn't good. Slowly, he turned around on the counter. First, he looked at the damage on the floor. Pieces of glass littered the area. In those shards, Edward saw his memory of what had happened a few weeks ago. Suddenly, he was frightened to look up at his mother, afraid of what he might see in her eyes. He wondered if she remembered it, too, or if this time would be different.

"Edward." Her voice was stern, slightly dangerous.

He put it off for as long as he could, but finally, Edward looked up at his mother. He swallowed, trying to rid himself of the fear clawing at his insides. His stomach hurt, like he'd eaten too many sweets. He felt sick, warm all over yet cold at the same time. His little hands shook as he tried to move off the counter.

His mother crossed the floor before he had a chance to slide down. Her hand gripped his arm like a vise with fingers like ice. Tears immediately sprang to Edward's eyes from the sudden pain in his arm. He tried to stammer out the word, "Mom," but it came out as twisted sounds, unrecognizable.

"Look what you did, Edward!" his mother said loudly, yanking him off the countertop and onto the hard floor. Ed winced a little from the way she wrench his arm. "Look! I have to clean it up now!"

Edward fought against the tears in his eyes. The promise he'd made with himself not to cry flashed before him, though it was with a different resolve. Instead of not crying to be strong for his mother, he was now going to be strong for himself. Still, words came spilling out of his mouth like word vomit, uncontained, unchecked.

"I'm so-sorry, Mom!" Ed yelped. "I didn't m-mean to!" He flinched when her grip tightened on his arm. Harder, he strove to keep from crying.

His mother began flailing her free hand around in a dramatic manner, saying, "Always apologizing! Of course you meant to do it, Edward. You're always making more work for me! Why do you do this? Why?" Her hands waved precariously close to his head, making Ed nervous. "You know how hard it is without your father!" Words continued to spew from her mouth; more apologies came from Edward. All the time, he was watching her hands.

When Ed felt a stinging sensation on his cheek, he flinched automatically. Immediately, his brain began excusing this as another accident. Her hands had been moving sporadically, she seemed uncoordinated. He needed any thought that was a viable excuse in his head for this.

Ed knew there was no accident when her hand flew a second time against his other cheek. Still, his brain worked, but it was in vain. Nothing was coming to mind to justify this. No excuses, no explanations that might somehow point to the accident he wanted so badly.

All at once, Edward saw the world fly in front of him. It stopped suddenly, accompanied by a hard collision against his head. When things came into focus, Ed realized he was on the floor. His mother was standing with her back to him, swaying more than she had been earlier. Her hand, the one that had had an iron grip on Ed's arm, was pressed to her forehead.

Without waiting for dismissal, Edward scrambled to his feet as quickly as he could without finding a shard of glass with his foot. He didn't even turn to look at his mother before running out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

When he reached his and Al's bedroom, Ed ensured his brother was sleeping. As Edward crawled into his bed, there were no other sounds in the house besides his and Al's breathing, only for a few more moments. When he was sure that his mother wasn't coming upstairs for anything anytime soon, Edward let go. He released the tears he'd been holding for weeks, since that first incident. He buried them in his pillow, the blankets pulled over his head in hopes that he wouldn't wake Al.

Within a few minutes of his weeping, Edward felt drained. Drained of everything; tears, emotion, energy. As if it took a great effort, Edward slowly turned his pillow over. He was faintly surprised that it wasn't soaked all the way through. With a sigh, he rolled onto his back, looking out of the window beside his bed. As his eyes focused on the stars, one question went through his head, echoing over and over, mocking him since he couldn't understand it. It was only one word: _Why?_

- - -

The next morning, Edward woke early once more. There were no plans in his head to make breakfast, though. No; he was going to stay out of the kitchen now, unless he absolutely had to go in there. He was going somewhere else this morning. So he crawled out of bed slowly, almost reluctant to leave its warmth and comfort, its safety. When Ed looked down at himself, he frowned; he was still in his clothes from yesterday. Eager to shed those garments, to shed the memory of the previous night, he hastily changed into a short sleeved shirt and shorts. As he was changing, he saw a bruise on his arm where his mother had grabbed him. Where else did he have bruises? He was almost afraid to check.

Quietly, he crossed the floor to his brother's bed. Gently, he tapped Al's shoulder. "Al, I'm going to Winry's," Edward said quietly.

Alphonse mumbled a little, waving a hand. Visions of last night flashed before Ed's eyes, the memory of his mother's flailing hand still fresh in his memory. "Wait, I'll come with you," Al murmured sleepily, turning over.

Edward shook his head. "You can come later. It's still early; go back to sleep for a while." He didn't want Al to see if there were bruises on his face. Not yet. He didn't have a good excuse for them.

It seemed Al was still too tired to stay awake any longer, since he didn't reply to Ed. Within moments, he was snoring quietly. Edward breathed a sigh of relief before leaving the room. He made a side trip to the bathroom. When he caught his reflection in the mirror, he almost gasped. His cheeks were red on both sides. His right cheek was even more bruised from when he'd fallen on it. Ed winced when he splashed water against his face.

About ten minutes later, Edward was running across the grass in his front yard, down the hill, over to Winry's house. She was probably still asleep, but her parents would be awake. So would Auntie Pinako. That made Edward halt. Her parents would probably ask him questions about his bruises. He needed to figure out a plausible reason why, other than the truth. If he told the Rockbells his mother had hit him, he didn't know what would happen. He didn't want to know, either. In his head, still, was a notion that she really hadn't meant to do it.

His excuse last time had been falling down the stairs and hitting his face on the floor. That was almost true this time, but Ed didn't want to reuse the same excuse. With a six year old sigh, he began walking to the Rockbell house. Maybe they'd believe him if he said he and Al had started a fist fight after they'd left the previous night? It was worth a shot.

- - -

About an hour later, Edward was sitting on Winry's bed. He was squirming a little uncomfortably, like he had been doing for the past half hour. Winry was oblivious to his discomfort, her nose stuck in one of her parents' medical books. She'd been reading since he had come upstairs after dancing on incredibly thin ice around her parents. She'd hardly acknowledged him entering her room earlier. Part of Ed wanted to take the book from her and tell her his mother had done, and the other part was glad she wasn't paying him attention.

After a few moments, Edward sighed and turned onto his back so his head was close to Winry's, eyes closed. He didn't say anything, though his insides were bursting to share this with his best friend, one of the few people he could trust.

"You didn't brush your hair before coming over here."

Edward opened his head quickly to see Winry sitting up now, looking down at him. There was a slightly surprised look on her face. Startled, Ed sat up all the way once more. Immediately, he remembered his marks and reached up to cover them. Winry's hands stopped his as she inspected his face.

"What happened to _you_, Ed?" she asked incredulously, like she couldn't believe it. "These bruises are worse than when you fell down the stairs!"

Once again, he began squirming, pushing Winry's hands away from his face. Now that he had a chance to tell someone what had been happening, he wasn't quite sure he wanted to do it. What if Winry told her parents? Her parents would probably do something about it; what, Edward couldn't fathom. He was very suddenly scared to share the truth. So his excuse bubbled up his throat and out his mouth:

"Al and I got in a fist fight after you guys left last night," he mumbled, not meeting Winry's eyes. Immediately after telling her this, the truth was on his tongue, begging to be spoken, to be exposed, but he just couldn't do it.

"A fist fight?" Winry repeated a little skeptical sounding. She was silent for a moment; Ed could tell she was thinking, deciding whether or not to accept this or if she should ask more. "Did you win?" she asked finally.

A sigh of relief and disappointment left Edward's lips in place of the truth. "No. I lost."


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: In the time I was gone, I did nothing to further any nonexistent attempts in gaining monetary gain or copyrights to Fullmetal Alchemist.**

**Author's Note: So yeah, I was gone for a while. And I'll be gone again after this...

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Chapter 2

Three days later, when Edward was sitting in the upstairs study, he heard slightly raised voices from downstairs. Since it had been almost a usual thing for Ed to hear arguments from downstairs between his mother and father before the latter left, he almost shrugged it off, mind back in a far away place. Just as he was about to sink into the book once more did Ed remember that his father was gone, and the voices he heard were not just his mother's and a man's. Auntie Pinako was down there, too. Ed couldn't make out what they were saying, apart from a few scattered words, only knew that it was an argument. So he slowly crept out of the chair, aware of every movement now, hoping they wouldn't hear him coming to spy.

At the top of the stairs, Edward peered down. He saw shadows falling in the hallway from the kitchen, moving sporadically. There was a very tall one walking to the other side of the kitchen. Another one, not as tall, followed the first. They must have been Mr. and Mrs. Rockbell, since their voices now registered in Edward's brain. A very short shadow walked around, stopping close to where the table would be. Edward could smell the smoke from her pipe.

"Trisha, we've seen the bruises on Edward," the old woman was saying in her crackly voice. "You can't keep doing this. It's bad for him, _and_ yourself." So his excuses hadn't worked. Edward hung his head down. Somehow, though, he'd known they wouldn't work. And for some reason, he felt guilty for it.

There was hardly a moment of silence before his mother spoke up, loudly. "It's none of your business what goes on here!" Her words were slurred. She started to speak again, but Mr. Rockbell spoke up before she could finish.

"Trisha, we're worried about you." His voice, as always, was laced with care and concern.

A quiet moment passed before Auntie Pinako spoke again. "It may not be a concern of mine what happens in this house, but as an old friend of Hohenheim's, it _is_ my concern what happens to his boys," she announced sternly. There was a blowing sound as she exhaled pipe smoke.

A strange sound came to Edward's ears; it sounded like someone was weeping. "Get out." That was his mother. Her voice was uneven, hitching a little. It must have been her crying. "Get out!" she shouted, voice cracking up an octave or three. "I don't want any of you interfering with what goes on in my house!"

No noise signified people were listening.

"Trisha, you have a problem!" Mrs. Rockbell spoke up for the first time for Ed to hear. "We want to help you get over this." Her voice was soothing, the type that could put young children to sleep without any fuss from them. There was a sound like footsteps crossing the floor before more voices. "You're ill. I know this is hard for you to take, Trisha, but I want you to know that—"

"You think this is _only_ hard for me?" his mother nearly screeched. She began speaking again, but the short shadow crossed the room and closed the door. The light, the shadows, and most of the noise disappeared, leaving Edward alone on the stairs.

Edward's six year old mind tried to process this, tried to figure out what the Rockbells may have meant by saying his mother was sick, that she had a problem. It was to no avail. No matter how much he tried to put things together, tried to figure things out, his mind couldn't wrap around it. Maybe he would go over to Winry's and ask her if she knew anything. If his mother was sick, Edward wanted to help her, despite what she did to him. Maybe if he helped her, she would stop hitting him.

As Edward stood up to go back to the study, he bumped his side on the stairs and winced. Gingerly, he felt with his fingers his newest bruise on his side from lunchtime the previous day.

- - -

The next day, it was after lunchtime when Edward tiptoed down the stairs to the kitchen. He was trying to be quiet and trying not to upset his bruises. There was a nice colorful array along his side from falling on something. Ed couldn't remember what it had been exactly. Each time this happened to him, everything about it became a blur, which made it difficult and easy at the same time when the Rockbells asked him about his bruises. It was easier, because he could make up an excuse quicker, but more difficult because he knew, despite the blurriness, that it was his mother who had done this too him.

When Edward stepped into the kitchen to see if there was lunch prepared, or to make at least sandwiches for himself and Al, he was a little shocked. There, on the floor beside the sink, was his mother. As Ed rushed over to her, he was afraid. It didn't matter to him then that she hit him, that the bruises he had on his body had been because of her. It didn't matter that she purposely did things to hurt him. He was worried about his mom.

As he reached her, he caught a whiff of some smelly odor from her body. It almost made him fall back. In his stumbling, he saw a bottle, half drained, and an empty glass on the table. The glass was identical to the one he'd broken. It reminded him of the second time she'd hit him.

Pushing that away, Edward knelt beside his mother and shook her a little. "Mom, Mom," he said urgently. "Mom, wake up." As he shook her, she moaned a little. It sounded like his name, followed by his father's name.

Fear gripped Edward. His mother wasn't responding to him. What did that mean? His young mind couldn't wrap around it, instead twisted with the fear of losing another parent at that moment. So he did the only thing that seemed logical. He began to cry.

"Mom, please get up!" he mumbled, shoving at her shoulders with much less fervor than before, as though his strength had been sapped away. "Mom."

Ed didn't know how much time had passed before the front door opened quickly and Winry burst in. She seemed excited for one second before that quickly changed to alarm. "What happened?" she asked Ed, rushing over to him and his mother.

With a pitiful shrug, all Edward murmured was, "I don't know."

Winry frowned. "I'll be right back," she said. Immediately after, she was gone, back out the front door. Edward wondered vacantly if she was leaving so she wouldn't have to be involved in whatever would happen next, or if she was going to help. The young boy had no preference between the two. He didn't care if his best friend was leaving him at that moment to face anything that was going to happen. He didn't care, also, if she was seeking help for his mother. All he cared about, all he wanted, despite everything that had been happening recently, was for his mother to wake up.

He wanted her to wake up and apologize to him, to pull him close in her arms and tell him how wrong she'd been for hitting him. Ed wanted to hear her voice in his ears, making things right between them. Maybe if she did that, she would stop hitting him and things would turn back to normal. Maybe his father would even come back if she did that. All Edward wanted was for things to be right.

As Mr. and Mrs. Rockbell ran in the kitchen, Edward knew that wouldn't be so, that his fantasy wouldn't happen. His father wasn't coming back any time soon, and his mother wasn't going to apologize. Not after what he'd heard her saying the previous day. She didn't want help for whatever was wrong with her.

The comforting words that came from Mrs. Rockbell in her soothing voice fell upon deaf ears. Edward knew she was speaking to him but could hear nothing she said, registered none of the meaning in her words. When she embraced him moments later, he cried into her shoulder because the way her arms were around him reminded him of when things had been right in his family, when his mother used to hold him when he was scared. For some reason, Edward knew that those times were no more.


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist and am receiving no monetary gain for writing and posting this story.**

Author's Note: Miss me much? I travel a lot. Enjoy the chapter.

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Chapter 3

Over the next few days, Edward spoke mostly to Alphonse. To anyone else, he gave mostly monosyllabic responses, if anything at all. The youngest Elric was the only one who had no clue what had been happening over the past few weeks, and Ed was hesitant to tell him. Half of him wanted to, so he could pull his brother out of the curious dark. The other half told Edward to keep the information away from his brother. Edward didn't want to spoil the probable wonderful image of their mother Al still held. Telling Al what their mother had done would likely shatter that thought forever.

It was about the third night after his mother's collapse that Edward found himself sitting outside his mother's room, on a chair, kicking his feet back and forth idly. He'd been that way for about an hour now, waiting for Mr. Rockbell to come out to tell him something about his mother. Ed didn't care what type of news it was, he just wanted to know _something_. He wanted to know what was wrong with her, why she had hit him, if she had apologized; anything. It didn't matter what at the moment.

Edward hardly looked up when he heard soft footsteps from down the hall. Within moments, he saw Mrs. Rockbell take a seat on the floor beside him. She offered him a cup of hot tea, which he silently declined with a shake of his head.

A few minutes passed in quiet, the only sounds being their breathing and the occasional muffled voices from inside the room behind them. Mrs. Rockbell broke the silence first. "I'm sorry about what's been happening to you, Edward," she murmured to him then sipped her tea. "It's such a terrible thing when a parent abuses their child. If I had known anything before now, I would have—"

Edward didn't wait for her to finish speaking. He slid off the chair and ran down the hallway, into the kitchen, and out the door into the late springtime warmth. It may have been comforting another day, but the sun on his cheeks only reminded him of the heat in his face that came after his mother's blows. He shivered at the memory. When he heard Mrs. Rockbell calling after him from the doorway, Edward ran off as quickly as he could in the direction of the river. He didn't want to hear what she would have done. He didn't want to hear what anyone else would have done if they'd known what had been happening. It was too late, anyway.

- - -

It was a few hours later when Edward returned to the house in great need of a bath. He'd gone swimming in the river for a little while, so his clothes were soaked. After swimming, he'd gone exploring, something he hadn't done in a while, and that had resulted in quite a bit of dirt sticking to him. He'd fallen a couple of times, upsetting the bruises on his torso and arms, gathering more dirt and mud on his body. There were a few cuts on his face and arms from branches and thorns.

So now, Edward walked up toward the front door of his house. He entered quietly, not wanting to alert anyone to his presence before he went to shower. He was going on his merry way, or as merry as he could be at that point in time, toward the stairs when a sudden bit of conversation stopped him.

"How long would you say she has?" It was Pinako speaking. Ed could smell the tobacco from her pipe, filling the house with a warm, sweet smell.

There was a deep sigh that belonged to Mr. Rockbell. "A few weeks, if she's lucky," he mumbled, but even then his voice was deep and loud enough that Edward could hear him without trouble.

A minute or two of silence almost convinced Edward that they were done talking, or knew he was out there so had silenced themselves, but Mrs. Rockbell spoke up before he moved on, leaving them to their grown-up discussion. "Do you know what she has, dear?" she asked her husband. Edward could imagine her touching Mr. Rockbell's arm as she spoke, concern lighting her eyes.

The man was quiet as he considered. "No, I don't. I've tried to think of everything it could be, but her symptoms are so few, and so strange. Whatever it is, it isn't good."

Edward's bottom lip trembled. His mother was dying. Why? Why was this happening? First had been his father leaving, and now his mother was dying. Even as he heard Mrs. Rockbell asking her husband "how they would tell the boys," Edward stood, frozen in place, unable to move or think past the fact that his mother was going to die very soon.

It was only when he felt Winry's hand on his shoulder was he startled out of his trance-like state. He turned quickly to face her, surprising her a little from the way she jumped. She looked even more astonished to see how dirty he was, and all the cuts on his arms and face. Edward didn't care, though. He quickly threw his arms around Winry's shoulders and started to cry.

Winry seemed puzzled for a few moments before Edward felt her arms go around him in return. Moments later, he felt someone else place their hand on his back. Mrs. Rockbell started speaking to him, but Edward blocked her out. When he tried to run away again, he ran only into firm arms. Ed made a small, frightened noise before realizing Mr. Rockbell had grabbed him.

"Put me down!" Ed said loudly, struggling to get away.

Mr. Rockbell took hold of Edward's arms in a firm hold, though the man was careful not to upset the bruises on his skin. "Just calm down, Edward," he demanded sternly. Edward continued to cry, head down and eyes shut tightly. "Calm down. We need to get you cleaned up."

"I heard what you said!" Edward cried out, lifting his hands to cover his face. "About my mom."

Everyone else was silent for a few moments until Mr. Rockbell spoke up again. "Let's clean you up some, Edward, and then we'll talk about what you heard. Okay?"

Edward was quiet for he couldn't tell how long, deciding whether or not to push for his way or listen to Mr. Rockbell. After a few more moments, he nodded a little. "Okay," he said in a little voice, hardly audible to even himself. He started to try to rub the tears out of his eyes when he felt someone pull them away from his face. Ed looked up and saw Mrs. Rockbell, kneeling before him with a kind smile on her face.

"Come on, Edward," she said softly, "and I'll clean up your scratches. How does that sound?" Her smile widened in what could have been an encouraging manner. It was encouraging, all right, encouraged the tears right out of Edward's eyes.

The people surrounding him murmured to each other before someone produced a handkerchief. Pinako, as she was about Edward's height, dabbed at his face carefully, wiping away his tears. "Go on, Edward, and let Sarah clean up your face." She placed the handkerchief in his hands then left abruptly. It was a moment before Mr. Rockbell followed her, shaking his head sadly.

"Mommy, what's wrong with Edward?" he heard Winry ask her mother quietly. Edward ignored her, immune to the words that could have possibly upset him another time.

Mrs. Rockbell quieted her daughter with a soft "Shh," and a gentle pat on her blond head. "Why don't you go check on Alphonse and keep him company while I tend to Edward's cuts?" she suggested, avoiding her daughter's question deftly.

Edward stood still, listening to them converse around him, talking as though he had disappeared. Though when Winry grabbed his hand, he was comforted in the slightest that she hadn't forgotten him.

"I want to stay with Edward, Mommy," she said defiantly. "He's sad. He needs a friend."

Both Edward and Mrs. Rockbell looked at Winry, astonished. The two then turned their faces away at the same time, one with a smile, the other with a frown. "Yes," Mrs. Rockbell said, holding her smile, "I suppose you're right Winry. Very well, you can come. But you have to help."

And so Edward was pulled away, doing nothing to resist, to the kitchen, unaffected by the words passing over his head. All he could hear still, was the conversation between the adults about his mother.

His perfect image of his mother was shattered into millions of tiny pieces, never to be whole again. But still, he didn't want her to die. He'd do anything to keep her with him in hopes of things suddenly being better again. Anything.


End file.
